A Mental Love
by tokyobreakup
Summary: I'd like to think of it as looking into a kaleidoscope. I think everyone feels that way at some point. Syaoran is a psychologist, Sakura is a patient. Despite what it may seem, it's just about life. REWRITTEN
1. chapter one

Chapter 1 – Coffee.

Syaoran Li – POV

I had a patient once who asked me a peculiar question; however I felt more reluctant than obligated to answer.

He had avoided eye contact with me the moment he walked through my door, and it had been months since then. He came on his own. He was old enough to make his own decisions and his parents played no part whatsoever in his visits. He always sat at the end of the couch, fiddling with his watch, his eyes on the ground. He always replied to my questions with short, typical answers.

Though, one day, after our simple question routine, asking how college is, if he has any new interests, etc, he stayed absolutely still. I remember not noticing at first. He stayed quiet for a few moments and I could hear him breathing steadily, a strange steady, like absolutely nothing in this world mattered to him.

When he finally spoke his voice was soft but sharp, and the control it had almost frightened me.

He said, "Have you ever loved someone so much, you want to completely and totally disengage yourself from all aspects of reality?"

A part of me hesitated a bit, the words repeated themselves in my head and I tried to make sense of them, but eventually I asked him what he meant.

He smiled softly, and his eyes drifted a bit with his slow reply. "You want to dedicate every word to them, every moment, every feeling you've ever felt, until you completely disappear."

I was at a loss. It's not as if I didn't know what he meant, I could classify it in some sort of medical term if I wanted to, but I felt it was useless. I felt that what he had said to me wasn't something anyone could place.

"No."

He looked at me and said, "Well, I do."

That was our last conversation. He never came back after that.

I went to his parents' house quite some time after that in hopes of seeing how he was doing. After talking with his parents for awhile they told me about the accident he was in with his girlfriend seven years ago. He wasn't injured; however his girlfriend fell into a coma. She hasn't woken up. According to what his parents told me, that's the only relationship he's ever had.

I tried to connect the incident to his question, but eventually I gave up and let it rest.

At times I think about what he said exactly, and I wonder why I replied the way I did. I felt maybe I was afraid of what he might have said if I had related to him. Maybe that's all he wanted, was someone who could relate to feeling that way, whether it might be suicidal or insane or just borderline-depressive, he wanted to know that someone else had felt or could feel the same thing.

After thinking about it for a long time, I realized I have loved something to that extent. I loved the idea of loving someone to that extent.

This terrifies me.


	2. chapter two

Hi everyone. How are you?

I'm not sure if anyone still remembers me, but my computer crashed and I completely lost all the original files of "A Mental Love" - A story I started on 5 years ago, when I was 13. I gave up on it and moved onto other things, but the original chapters remained in all of their misery, so I decided to take them down and rewrite the entire story (because frankly, I was a terrible writer at age 13, and I've improved at least somewhat since then), however since my computer crashed I'm pretty much writing everything from scratch. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless. I wrote this chapter awhile back, and I'll try to keep up. But for now, I'm happy with how this little monologue came out. If I ever get back into this - The entire thing will be different. Syaoran is 25 instead of 19, he works as a somewhat known doctor in the Odaiba district of Tokyo, and Sakura isn't a whiny suicidal crackwhore. (Excuse the language)

I do not own CCS.

Enjoy.

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Chapter 2 - Number

Syaoran Li - POV

When you've been in a place long enough, it starts to look the same. And when things start to look the same, they gradually begin to feel the same, and everyday it gets more tiresome. My life built itself around where I am right now, and though the places and faces change, my life, and myself, remain constant. I've been surrounded by people teaching me how to deal with other people for the past 6 years. Part of me has a feeling it was all a waste, considering I can't even deal with myself. I'm 25 years old, and I haven't a clue who I am. Others have pointed out my direction in life. People told me to do something so I did it. I didn't have anything else to do. Study, my mother would tell me, so I studied. Stay home and read some more of those books I bought you, my father would say as I'd be walking out the door, so I stayed home and read. It was mainly my dependence on people choosing who I was at that moment, or who I was supposed to be in the future, that made me gradually decide to study harder or stay home. I didn't want to think about my meaning in life and what kind of person I was or wanted to be, because I felt I didn't know myself well enough to make those decisions.

So, I guess it's safe to say that my father is the only reason I'm standing in this hallway right now, staring at a golden name plate bolted into the wooden door of my ridiculously large office. I stare at this plate and my name stares back at me: S. Li. - Not just Li, it would be too inconvenient, I suppose. And although these letters represent my full name, I feel I have absolutely no connection with the person that represents the letters. I feel as if someone else is supposed to be entering the office right now, or if I were to open the door someone else would be sitting at that boring desk surrounded by boring photographs.

But this is what I deal with everyday, as I drift off into some sort of careless daze for a minute or so while I enter through the building doors and pretend I'm content with who I am. I believe everyone feels this way at some point, or at least that is what I was taught to believe. Term papers, tests, projects, all reflecting complex emotions I've studied so thoroughly and researched so much I'm not even sure how to feel them myself. I think I want it simple though; I try not to think about anything else that even has the ability to make this life of mine complex. It's already filled with the complexity of the lives of my patients, anyway.

As cliché as it sounds, I really hate this place.

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	3. I'm partial to the number 9

I do not own CCS or it's characters.

* * *

There are often times in life where you hear similar words spoken of someone stopping you in your tracks. They are told almost as if they are fairy tales, trapping you in a state of mind where such a thing cannot actually be possible. You've heard of these experiences, these seemingly contrived stories of someone abruptly stealing from you every part of your being, every aspect of self. It happens in a wave, and everything you thought you knew before feels as if it's vanished in a flash, wiped clean in a matter of seconds, and you find yourself having to start anew. It's a feeling that can't exactly be described; it shocks you at first, grasps your heart greedily and strikes your soul, saving you or utterly destroying you. That person reaches you without warning. It just takes one instant, and you know.

I always believed these feelings were idealistic and nonexistent - exaggerated feelings of hopeless romantics if you will. So when I opened the door to her, for the first time I felt every fiber of my being vanish– out of my reach, completely impervious, and the only thing I felt I had any understanding of, any comprehension of in that moment, was that I had met someone who undoubtedly shared the same soul. After that moment I knew I had been sadly mistaken for the past 25 years of my life.

You could say my reality is a sad story; perhaps viewing it as such would make it easier to bear. A physical reality and mental illusion all one in the same, all my own, that can delude me into thinking I could finally be happy. It's a dangerous thing - this world I eagerly want to explore. It quite possibly will destroy me, leaving nothing left, nothing at all - not even bits and pieces for the vermin that scatter through the streets of my being.

* * *

I waited behind the door until the footsteps had faded. My breathing was low and steady. I was nervous. I grasped the edge of my shirt with one hand and closed my eyes, breathing in deeply and slowly exhaling. I needed to calm down, I told myself. The footsteps were gone. I was safe.

I opened the door quietly and looked out into the barely lit hallway. No one in sight. I checked my watch, 3 am. God, was it that late? I left my apartment at 2. I must have hid behind that door for 40 minutes. I scanned my surroundings. It was an eerie sight, one that for a moment, realizing the reality of what I was doing, frightened me. I gathered my courage and slipped out from behind the door into the hall. I counted my steps and held my breath as I made my way to the room I was looking for… The room which made my pulse quicken and my heart pound in my chest with the thought of who was in it. It was a type of longing and fear I never experienced prior. I eased myself carefully down the hallway, unfamiliar feelings I can barely describe erupting inside me with every fleeting thought - all focused on one thing.

The fear of getting caught made me tense, so I quickly turned my thoughts back to walking and checking rooms. I turned the corner and read the silver numbers, one by one, making my way to 129. 129. I'm partial to the number 9. 123, 124, 125 - the higher the numbers the more nervous I became. My guilt pushed past me, I could sense my regrets and doubts subconsciously waiting to arise and I could feel them even before I put my keycard through the lock and slowly turned the handle.

My entire life I was living a facade. A lie. A perfect life, a perfect family, a perfect income and seemingly perfect relationships. I never really knew what living, and breathing, and existing felt like until she came into my life – abruptly, vigorously, unsolicited.

So when I saw her there as I opened the door, sitting on the bed naked with her back facing me, her long, dark hair flowing down the small of her back, I knew the person I was before was gone forever. He had died long before, perhaps years ago, and I was just now realizing it. She turned to look at me, her wide, brown eyes surprised and innocent. She was wrapped loosely in a white sheet, her back revealed and breasts barely covered. Her eyes gave off the impression she expected this, more or less, because there was no fear or sudden shock in them; just a hint of surprise. The moment we met we both knew this would happen, eventually. Upon seeing her, I rushed to her, falling into an embrace on her bed. I sunk my head onto her shoulder and held her tightly.

"I missed you," I breathed, pulling her closer.

"Li.." she spoke quickly, gasping, her face was hot with embarrassment, "What are you-"

I couldn't take it anymore. I started kissing her in a fury, my hands running down her back and to her breasts, cupping them briefly and then massaging them. Her skin was incredibly soft. I kissed down her neck, brushing my lips past her collarbone and kissing her down to her breasts.

"I told you.." I moaned slightly as she reached down and touched me, rubbing the fabric of my pants against me, "to call me Syaoran"

I reached over to her desk and, fumbling a bit, turned off the light.

* * *

Was a bit bored, and figured I'd pick up with this story a bit – 3 years later! Amazing. I wanted to write some candy for it. Not sure if I'll continue it, but it was sure fun writing this chapter and definitely a blast to the past, if you will.

(Hint – There are so many comments because 7 years ago I had a story here which I deleted. It wasn't that good, I around 13 or 14 writing it, so you can imagine… I write for fun now but I'm convinced my style is a bit pretentious and annoying (even though I feel like I'm a terrible writer in general, to be honest) and therefore I don't publish a lot of what I write. Out of fun and boredom I'm constantly picking up on old stories or redoing chapters, so you might see something from me with this story, but consider it a three chapter short for now until I come up with a better plot for these characters – Thank you for reading!)


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